


The Promise

by averageclawenfangirl



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: Angst, Arguing, As Smutty As I'll Go, Clawen, F/M, Fighting, Kissing, Smut, who doesn't love that?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-27 00:07:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7595620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/averageclawenfangirl/pseuds/averageclawenfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off a Tumblr prompt I recieved: Clawen prompt: Claire is otw to a big important gala and suddenly receives a text saying that Owen isn't coming, when he NEEDS to be there to secure funding. Claire has no choice but to driver over to his place in her gala outfit angrily and force him to go. What happens when she shows up...?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Promise

**Author's Note:**

> One of my favourite ever prompts to receive. I hope you guys like this.. I think I got too overexcited. Idk.

__

**[This](http://www.pinkboutique.co.uk/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95/b/l/blair-w50146kh-2.jpg)** was the inspiration for Claire’s dress.  


Claire turned sideways a little, ensuring every aspect of her outfit was perfection. Tonight, it could afford to be nothing less. _It was time. The big one._ The event she’d been meticulously planning for several months; pulling every string she knew and out every stop she had. The great business gala at Jurassic World only happened once every three years, and it was the first in her term as Park Operations Manager. The eyes of the world would be on her and the park, and there was simply no room for error. 

Chewing her lip nervously, Claire straightened a non-existent crease on the fabric over her thighs. She’d chosen a deep green fishtail gown, the colour her go-to since she was a teenager. The Bardot neckline left her shoulders bare, and underneath she had on nude Louboutins, her most trusted pair. Claire wore her hair straight, red curving about her cheekbones. She’d dusted her eyes dark and worn a simple gloss on her lips; Tiffany in her ears and a simple pendant around her neck. Claire exhaled heavily, nodding at herself in the mirror for encouragement. _Bold, but classy_.

The whole look _had_ to tell everybody that Claire Dearing was a woman on a mission, the park excelling under her control. Every major player in the business world would be attending, dressed to the nines as the invitations had suggested. _Give us your money_ , she mused internally, _and we can make you even richer_. She knew how to smooth talk, and she had the figures to back it up. Free champagne and caviar would be the sweeteners, CEOs falling over themselves to be a part of one of the biggest money-making theme parks in the world. Business cards sat in her matching purse, and Claire was set. 

She went about switching the lights off in her apartment, the resort cab outside ready to take her the short distance to the Innovation Centre. Claire could see it now from her windows, the twinkling lights glowing in the twilight settling over the island. The inside of the centre had been transformed; the domed ceiling fitted with the most mesmerising silk top and chandelier Claire had ever seen. She visualised the bars they’d set up, the waiters carrying vol-au-vents, the temporary dance floor in place. She hoped it’d be enough. It had to be enough. It was Claire’s first major gig, the first true test of her management abilities at Jurassic World. Squaring her shoulders, she closed her apartment door behind her. _It’d be fine. More than fine._

//

Claire tapped her foot absentmindedly as the elevator made its descent, half-wishing she’d brought along a cashmere wrap or something of the kind as the AC raised goosebumps on her skin. She would be arriving first, 6pm sharp, ready to give everything a last once-over before the private jets started to land, the yachts arriving from the mainland; old and new money pouring onto the island in droves. Masrani was on his way, calling her from his helicopter and wishing her luck. Her gut twisted a little as she felt her phone buzz in her purse. _Who on earth wanted her on her personal number? At this time?_

The screen flashed ’ _Owen Grady - InGen_ ’. She froze, heart hammering in her chest. _What on earth..?_ Opening the message with a sinking feeling, Claire scanned it quickly. ’ _Claire. Sorry for the late notice - I won’t be in attendance tonight. Hope it all goes well. Owen_.’ Claire felt as though the air had been knocked from her lungs, knuckles whitening as her fists clenched. The audacity of the man never failed to shock her. 

Claire and Owen were renowned for their frosty relations, every employee in their circle knowing well enough to stay away when the two came into contact. He never seemed to grasp Claire’s point of view, his stubborn claims pushing hers to the wayside. He was headstrong, confident; their personalities so similar, yet opinions so different. Owen was gorgeous and he knew it, making Claire blush in ways she hadn’t thought were possible with his one-liners and smooth charm - when they weren’t arguing. She hated his guts, sure. The tension was there, though, oozing away beneath the surface; one waiting for the other to crack, to make the move. Claire could see it in the way Owen watched her. He intrigued her, though Claire hated to admit it. Two lone wolves on an island of thousands. Something ran deep with him, she was sure of that much. 

Claire had seen Owen just a week ago, a rare visit to the velociraptor compound specifically to ensure that he would attend the gala. Project IBRIS was a drain on resources; the programme running on far too long with no real achievements to speak of. Claire had proposed the option of presenting the raptor pack as an asset, viewable by the public, when the next season rolled round. InGen were all for it, keen to make cash off a sinking ship. Owen, however, was more than displeased. They’d fought - again - Barry, Zara and Hoskins watching on as voices rose and insults flew. She understood his point, she really did, but it simply wasn’t doable. 

Project IBRIS needed funds, and the only way it was possible was via sponsorship. That was the bottom line, and the raptor trainer had no other choice but to accept it. Claire requested Owen’s presence at the gala purely for his knowledge, his passion for the animals unrivalled by his coworkers. She needed him, and now he had let her down. Claire had arranged liaisons between Owen and several management teams for the evening, and now he sought to just blow her off, act like he could get out of it, no big deal?! Claire wasn’t ready to sit back and take that, to be red-faced when she explained to the moguls that the researcher she’d promised them had simply backed out. 

She was seething when she exited the elevator. Waving off the confused cab driver, Claire fished her own car keys from her purse, the Mercedes jumping to life as she switched her heels to the gym sneakers she had in the passenger seat. It looked daft, she knew that, but Owen Grady wasn’t who she was dressing up for. He knew how much this evening meant to her, how vital his appearance would be both for her and the sake of his precious animals. Claire put her foot down hard as she exited the complex garage, heading away from the bright lights of the park and onto the dark track toward Owen’s bungalow. 

//

The sun hadn’t yet fully set; red trails bleeding through the indigo as Claire killed the engine. The air was still, distant roars of the dinosaurs puncturing the silence every few moments. Cicadas buzzed in the soft tropical breeze, the lights of Owen’s home visible in the fading light. Claire took a few short breaths, the serenity of the scene before her calming her frayed nerves. She’d been here, once, seeking month-late reports and apparently another fight. She clambered out, locked the Mercedes and marched purposefully across the grass, holding her dress gingerly so it didn’t drag across the ground. _She didn’t have time for this. She would never have time for this._

“Don’t say you dressed like that just for me,” a voice drawled, stopping Claire in her tracks as she looked up the steps toward the bungalow. Owen was leant against the doorjamb, beer bottle in one hand. Clearly, he’d at least considered attending. He was dressed in a dark tuxedo, white shirt with the collar open, bow tie lying undone. His hair was a little mussed, and Claire could see he hadn’t shaved for the occasion, hair creeping slightly over his jaw. His dark eyes watched her intently, and Claire could see the sweat already glistening on the golden skin beneath his shirt. She swallowed, hard, her body betraying her as she felt something swoop low in her belly. 

“Mr Grady,” Claire began, before he tutted, correcting her with his first name. She ignored him. “I don’t think you quite understand the gravity of the situation we have here,” Claire said as she climbed the steps, fabric of her dress in one hand. She was on his level, now, the smirk on his features not lost on her as Owen moved to stand opposite, folding his arms over one another. Claire failed to miss how the material of his suit tightened over his biceps, the muscles of his body barely contained beneath it. She pressed on, staring him directly in the face. “You know how essential tonight’s gala is to the future of your animals. What makes you think you can decide at the last moment to just _blow it off_?” She asked.

Owen shook his head as he chuckled, incensing Claire. “Spending an evening talking to a group of people who see my entire life’s work as nothing more than something to put on a lunchbox is my idea of hell. Who knows if they’ll even go for it? It’s a waste of time, Claire,” he shrugged, taking another casual swig from his bottle as he turned away from her. “You have to at least _try_ , Owen,” she muttered through gritted teeth, “I thought these animals meant a great deal to you? How can you just give up on them so easily?”

Owen looked back as though Claire had hit him. “You do _not_ get to say that,” he said, expression changing in a moment, voice rumbling dangerously low. “I’ve tried my goddamn _hardest_ to make this project work. It’s been the most difficult thing I’ve ever done, what with that asshole Hoskins constantly on my back,” he murmured angrily. “Just because the tracks we’re making don’t crunch the numbers enough for you guys in that mighty _Control_ tower doesn’t mean we haven’t achieved anything. You’d know that, if you took it upon yourself to visit from time to time,” Owen remarked, sarcasm dripping from his voice. 

“I don’t deny that,” Claire fought back, her chest heaving as she felt herself winding tighter and tighter, the humidity closing in her lungs. “But those animals will be heading for _euthanasia_ if we can’t support them. Don’t you see what’s happening here?!” She half-yelled, her temper snapping as she watched Owen laugh in contempt. “Oh, yeah. I see _exactly_ what’s happening. You couldn’t give a flying _fuck_ about those animals, _Ms Dearing_ , as long as they’re making the cash you need,” he muttered, draining his beer and dropping the bottle on the table beside him. 

“Now is not the time or place to discuss my emotional connection with the dinosaurs, _Mr Grady_. I need you to get in that car with me and secure the funding you need to continue the project. Do you understand what I want?” Claire demanded, feeling herself fraying at the edges, her hair starting to curl, sweat sheening on her skin. They were glowering at one another, the silence almost too much to bear. Something changed in the air between them; the friction wrought as Claire waited. The alpha surfaced in his eyes. “No. I’ve _never_ understood what you want, Claire,” he said surprisingly softly, advancing toward her. She opened her mouth to speak, to try and coerce him more, until suddenly Owen was everywhere, his lips on hers, hands on her face. 

Claire squeaked in surprise, the sound soon replaced by a hum of pleasure as she granted him access, the kiss deepening despite her best intentions. Her insides were liquid fire, her mind blank apart from anything but how Owen was making her feel. She shifted, her hands threading round his neck, Owen’s splayed against her waist as he pressed Claire lightly into the railing. His thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts; stroking softly, the touch so imperceptible but so distinctly _there_. She’d never been held like it in all her thirty years, and she was reluctant to let go.

“I probably should’ve said,” Owen muttered breathlessly between kisses, “how incredible you look in this,” his hands ran over her waist, the fabric soft beneath them. “I don’t do sweet talk,” she whispered, pulling his mouth back to hers, his hands travelling to subtly squeeze her behind as her head fell back. It’d been mere minutes, and she was already insatiable for him. “Of course you don’t,” Owen chuckled, relenting to her direction.

Claire managed to pry herself away from him; still breathing hard as she ran a hand through her hair. “We have to go. You _need_ to do this, Owen,” she said simply, and he nodded slowly. “Can we talk about this? Afterward?” Owen asked, raising an eyebrow. “After this evening is done, I’m yours for the night,” Claire said boldly, the sensations of him still reverberating through her body. Owen smiled, the darkness closing in on them now. “Is that a bribe?” He said, pulling her close again. “No,” Claire whispered, running her hands down his arms. “It’s a promise.” 


End file.
